Just an Illusion
by JohnlockedForSher
Summary: One day, John lets Sherlock leave the appartment on his own. Mistake? Yes. Especially when he finds out that Sherlock has been brutally attacked, and has to be taken to the hospital. Now John is heartbroken, and and must figure out a way to save his best friend. But in the end, is it all, just an illusion?


I had let Sherlock go out on his own today.

Mistake.

I had let Sherlock go out on his today, unarmed.

Mistake.

I had ignored his texts.

Mistake.

I let him die.

Unforgivable.

Earlier, this week. Wow, only a week? It seems like a lifetime ago. I guess that's what happens in situations like this. Time passes in strange ways. Well, earlier this week then. I let Sherlock leave the flat on his own. You can say that we weren't at the best terms at the time. Frankly, I don't even recall why. I was just fed up with him, plain and simple. So when he came out of his room and announced that he was going to investigate, I let him go. When he asked me if I wanted to tag along, I gleefully declined and continued reading the paper. He sighed heavily as stormed downstairs, shutting the door with a defiant bang. And I smiled at that bang, I _smiled._

I shouldn't have smiled.

It must have only been half an hour. I was sitting with my laptop, peacefully drinking my tea. When my phone buzzed, it was Sherlock. The text read, 'John, where is my gun? SH' I rolled my eyes and replied, 'Here, on the table. Why do you need your gun? JW' He replied quickly, quicker than usual. But I didn't think anything of it. 'It doesn't matter. SH' Sighing, I set my phone down and turned back to my laptop. My phone buzzed again, and I ignored it. Again, I ignored it once more. Finally on the third buzz I picked it up, and didn't even bother reading the messages, 'Shut the bloody hell up Sherlock. JW'

I should have read the texts.

Then my phone rang. A last attempt by Sherlock, as he would never call me. Giving in, I picked up my phone.

"What do you want Sherlock? I told you that your bloody gun was here in the flat!"

"J-John? Is, is that you?"

I frowned, Sherlock never stammered. His voice was oddly shaky and there was a hint of something in it... fright.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, what's wrong?" I immediately jumped up and shoved on my shoes. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

"W-well. M-my gun, it would have been helpful to have." A small shaky laugh.

"What are you talking about? Sherlock, I demand you tell me what's wrong _now_."

"I... I was walking, yes? Then, some... man... very, very big, and angry. Oh yes, very angry. He, he had a gun. And, started to chase me... I don't know what I did... and then-then everything was in slow motion, and I don't remember much..." He took a deep breath.

"It's alright Sherlock. Just- just explain it as best you can. What did he do?" I was trying to keep calm, but my heart was racing. And I was scared, I was actually terrified. I was out of the flat, walking down the street, I needed to move. Most of all, I needed to know what was wrong with Sherlock.

"He-he... broke my leg. And then, grabbed my shoulder and dislocated it. Then- then h-he. Hit me over the head with something, a baseball bat maybe? And... he said, "You dirty bastard." right before... before he..."

"Before he what Sherlock? Tell me, please."

"Shot me... right... right in the... in the stomach. I-I'm bleeding... everywhere."

My stomach lurched and dropped into my foot, and my heart stopped. Everything was still, I couldn't breath. Nothing was moving. The only sound I heard was Sherlock's hushed voice.

"It hurts John... It hurts really bad... I need you- I need you John... I-I love you."

It was like someone instantly hit the play button. All at once everyone around me started moving, and the noise was almost deafening.

"Where are you Sherlock? I'm coming to get you now."

"O-on that corner. Actually, the alleyway behind that corner. T-the shop, the one that sells... sells the mushy valentines stuff all year-long?... I'm there... please John..."

"I'm on my way now. Keep talking to me Sherlock. Just keep talking."

I took off, my feet carrying me towards the shop. I knew exactly where it was. I knew where he was talking about, I knew _exactly_ where he was talking about.

"Can I go to sleep John?"

"No! Sherlock, no! You can't sleep, you have to stay awake."

"B-but please? I'm so tired, and it hurts..."

Sherlock sounded like a child. Small and frail, and... afraid. Very afraid, Sherlock... Sherlock Holmes, was scared. I couldn't let him be scared. I was the one that was supposed to be scared, not him.

"No Sherlock, you can't. Please stay awake, for me okay? Stay awake for me? I'm there. Oh I swear, I'm almost there."

"Hurry."

"As fast as I can."

So that's what I did I sprinted down the streets, shoving people out of my way. Getting enough dirty glances to break a record, but I didn't care. I needed to get to Sherlock. His voice in my ear was getting softer and quieter, but it was still there. He was still talking, just like I had told him too.

Then I saw it, the shop Sherlock was talking about. WIth as much speed as I possessed, I sprinted across the street, narrowly avoiding being run over by more than one cab, passed the shop, and down the alleyway.

"J-John? I-I hear footsteps... is that-?"

"Yes, Sherlock it's me. I'm here." I put away my phone and ran towards the black lump that sat against the wall of the alleyway.

"Sherlock!" I screamed, as I neared the lump. Who was indeed my friend. He sat there... and... my God, it was horrid. Sherlock's leg was bent at an awkward angle, his right shoulder was hunched forward and swollen. His head was soaked with blood, no doubt from behind hit over the head. And... his stomach... there was a huge hole in his shirt, and blood covered him. Not only him, but the surrounding pavement aswell.

"Oh God... Sherlock..." I swallowed hard.

"I-it's bad, isn't it?"

"Y-yeah. It's, it's pretty bad Sherlock..."

This was unbelievable, I'd fought in Afghanistan. I'd seen blood, I'd seen bullet wounds. Hell, I'd amputated people myself. But this... God...for some reason, this... made me want to throw up, cry and just lie on the pavement and give up. But I couldn't give up, I couldn't give up on Sherlock. I could never give up on Sherlock. Never.

"Did you..." I took a deep breath and gently began to check him, "Did you call an ambulance?"

"Right b-before I... I called you."

"Good, so they're on their way?"

"Yes... but John?"

"Yeah Sherlock?" I slipped my hand behind his head... God... that was a nasty gash. Nearly... five inches long... bleeding like crazy.

"Don't- don't leave me? I want you to... to be... with me."

"I'd never leave you. Not for one second. Promise."

"Good..."

The sound of ambulance sirens rang out, steadily getting louder.

"They're here." I whispered.

"I know, I'm not deaf John, really..." A small laugh escaped my lips, that sounded more like Sherlock.

The ambulance screeched around the corner, spotting up immediately, and pulling up beside us. Two paramedics hopped out, rushing to the back and pulling out a gurney.

"Doctor Watson? Doctor John Watson, and Sherlock Holmes? Are you serious?"

"Yeah... that's us." I muttered.

The paramedics whistled and gently picked Sherlock up and put him on the gurney.

"Don't-don't let go John."

"I'd never dream of it."

The ride to St. Bart's was longer than you would imagine. I talked to Sherlock, and he talked back to me, all in attempt to keep him awake. Which apparently worked, and it seemed that he was getting better. Though I wasn't sure how. As he snarky comments returned, though with slightly less sneering, as any violent movement would cause him extreme pain... everywhere. Well we finally reached the hospital.

We burst into the doors, and just as I had promised, I kept a hard grip on Sherlock's hand. Not once letting go. Until...

"Doctor, you have to let go of him."

"No, I promised him."

"But Doctor-"

"I told him I wouldn't! So I'm not!"

"John..."

"Hush Sherlock, I'm right here." I squeezed his hand lightly.

"Doctor Watson, we have to-"

"John, don't let them..."

"I'm not letting go!"

"Security!"

"No!" I screamed as security came, grabbing me by the waist and yanking on me, as the nurses pulled Sherlock the other direction.

"I promised! I promised I wouldn't- Sherlock!"

"John!"

But they yanked me hard, and I had to let go. I couldn't hold on any longer. I watched as his eyes grew wide and frightful, and I tried to run back to him. The security guards held me tight.

"Doctor Watson, you'll just have to wait out here until they're done."

So I did. I sank to me knees right in the middle of the floor and just sat there. I watches as Sherlock was wheeled away, and I just sat there. Not moving, I was too sacred to move.

I should have moved.

It seemed like I was sitting there an eternity. It seemed like everything that day was moving in slow motion. But finally, a nurse came out.

"John Watson? A John Watson for a Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

I jumped up and nearly ran over to her. My heart was racing, _Please, let Sherlock be okay. Just please. I need him. We need him. No one knows how much we really need Sherlock, but we do. Just... let him be okay... I need him more than anything... I need my Sherlock Holmes..._

"Doctor Watson, I'm sorry but..."

Those words, those three damned words. And my stomach lurched again, and my heart stopped. All over again. No... it couldn't be...

"Sherlock isn't going to make it."

That was it, the last blow. Tears began to stream down my face, and I felt dread set over me. Just an impenetrable feeling of dread, and complete doom. Sherlock wasn't going to make it. It couldn't be... it just couldn't be...

"You... You can see him now, if you'd like?"

I nodded, words just wouldn't come to me.

So as we made our way to Sherlock's room in the IC I tried to gather myself. I wiped away my tears, and put up a brave front, so Sherlock wouldn't see me like this. I wouldn't let him see me like this.

Just as we reached his room, I touched the nurse lightly. She jumped a bit and turned around, seeing the question poised on my lips.

"Yes Mr. Watson?"

"How long?"

"Excuse me?"

"How long, How long... does he have?"

"Three hours... at most."

"Oh... thank, thank you. Can I... be alone with him?"

The nurse gave me a sympathetic look and nodded, "Of course."

I pushed open the door, and the first thing that hit my ear was the beeping of machines. And the first thing to befall my gaze was his broken form.

"Oh God... Sherlock..." I pulled a chair up beside him, he was awake. He watched me as I made my way over.

"You've been crying."

For some reason, that set of the waterworks again. To know that he could tell that I had been crying.

"John... ssh... John, it's okay." Sherlock reached out and took my hand within his own. His long thing fingers intertwining with mine.

"No, no it's really not okay." I gasped between sobs.

"I know John, I know that..."

"You only have three hours to live?"

"Yes... And I want to spend them with you John."

I looked up at him, tears streaming down my face, "Me?"

"Yes."

"Why me?"

"I don't really think I need to tell you why Doctor Watson."

So there we sat, for two and a half hours. Talking, laughing, reliving old memories. Most of all, wishing that we had more time. Just a bit. But, we didn't, and we knew it.

"Almost three hours," I whispered, glancing up at the clock, and then back down at him.

"Mmhmm," Sherlock looked worse, he did look like he was going to die now. He really looked like it. And I couldn't stand it.

"I'm sorry Sherlock. I'm so sorry, it was all my fault, I could have done so much. But I was upset, I really don't know why. I should've... I could've stopped you. None of this would've happened, it's all my fault-"

"Hush love..." Sherlock reached up and wiped away one of my tears. He was shaking.

"Love?"

"Yes, my love. You... are... my... love..." Sherlock whispered.

"You're my love too... And that's why you can't leave me."

"I'll never leave you John."

I stood up and kissed him, he kissed me back, and I could feel the tears falling down his face, mixing with my own.

"I'll never leave you John."

Then he was still.

I don't remember much of what happened after that. The nurses, a flurry of machines, people pulling me out of the room. A text... I sent it to everyone on my contacts, 'Sherlock Holmes, is dead. JW' I ignored the replies, I remember watching them wheeling Sherlock out of the room, a cloth covering his face. But I was too numb to move, to numb to do anything. So I sat there. And watched as Sherlock was taken out of my life, and I knew that he'd never come back.

Eventually, someone came for me. Molly, and Lestrade. They ease me up out of my spot on the floor, and take me home. I don't speak the whole way there, and they -in return- don't try to talk to me. But they try to assure me that they know what I'm going through. Though, they really don't.

The sad thing is, I don't even remember the funeral. I remember it being cold, and feeling numb inside. I remember standing up and speaking, telling everyone what Sherlock was like. The things he did, why he did them, how -if I had the chance- I would go inside of his mind. Just to see what it was like for a moment. I talk nothing of us being together, just... us as flatmates, colleges, friend... nothing more, nothing less. But we all know, that's not the truth. It was more, much more -what we had that is. I didn't want to ruin him, didn't want people to think less of him. So I just skimmed around that subject. Completely ignored it.

It passed by, and I sat at home. Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, even Anderson, everyone stopped by. Just to see how the broken man was doing. I told them just fine, put on a fake smile, and they were soon on their way. I only ever cried in front of Molly, because I knew that she would understand me for some reason. She was also the only one who knew how much Sherlock really ment to me. And she didn't call me a freak when she caught me sending Sherlock texts. Yes, I knew he was dead, but it felt like the right thing to do. I felt like I had to, even though I knew getting an answer back was out of the question.

I finally decided to visit his cemetary in February. Valentines day to be exact, and I went alone. Flowers, and a cheesy box of chocolates in the shape of a heart in my hand. His grave looked lonely, and empty.

"Hey Sherlock. I- I know you can't hear me. But... happy valentines day. I... I got you these," I set the flowers down on his grave, along with the chocolates, "And... I've taken your job, if you don't mind. See? A new business card, it says 'Consulting Detective' on it. I hope you don't mind, I found out that... you kind of rubbed off on me. I guess I'm quite good now, Lestrade is coming to me for more and more cases. And it feels good, I guess. To know that I'm helping people..." I wiped away the tears that were gathering at the corners of my eyes, "So... I guess that it... I just... I miss you so much Sherlock. You were everything to me, and I thought that I'd always have you and now... now I don't. All I have is an empty flat, and too many sad memories. Lots of happy ones, but... the sad ones seem to be the ones I remember the most... So... bye," I choked up on the last word and turned. Only to be taken aback by what I saw. A tall figure, standing behind a tombstone. It... it was...

"Sherlock," I breathed, blinking fast. But then he was gone, and I shook my head. Another one, another hallucination.

"Just an illusion. It's just an illusion... it's always just an illusion... It'll never really be you, will it?" And with that, I walked away.

Sherlock breathed heavily, hiding behind the tombstone. John had seen him, oh God... but then he head John talking... he thought it was an illusion. Sherlock stood still, perfectly still and waited, until he finally saw John disappear, gone for good. He sighed and stepped out, watching the direction that John had left in sadly.

"Oh John... it's never _just_ an illusion."


End file.
